Page 45 of Fa-La La-La Land
“Day after then?”
I shake my head. “Mom has a job, and so do I. I can’t just drop everything. You can’t either. We’re supposed to be rehabbing your reputation. I still have work for Georgia, and I’ve got Piper’s launch to work on too.”
“So—skydiving, then?”
I laugh. “That one can wait, too.”
“Come on, Stella. I told you, crossing things off your list makes me happy. Let me help you.” Rhys reaches behind his head for a pillow, tucks it under his head, and really settles in to my lap.
I’m scared how much I like him here, snuggled into my lap like a cat who knows how to win its owner’s heart. There’s a familiarity to it that fills me with a warmth rivaling the excitement the very thought ofRhys Jamesused to spark. That, more than anything, tempts me to fly away to Italy with him to create some newfantasies.
“Don’t you have a song you’re supposed to be writing for Winter Lights?” I shift my legs, and his head bobbles.
He sits upright, swinging his feet to the floor before glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “Everything I come up with isn’t right.”
“What makes it wrong?” I toss the pillow from my lap and face him.
“It doesn’t sound like me.” His face twists with a look of irritation and pain, and I take a chance this may be the right time to push him to consider whathereally wants, not what everyone else wants—including his fans.
“By Rhys James…” I say slowly. “Do you mean the one the label created or the Rhys James right here?” I tap his chest, close to his heart.
He grabs my hand, then studies me, the uncertainty on his face growing. “You said the one right here is boring. I heard you when you were talking to Georgia.”
My face heats as the memory of what I said just a few weeks ago comes back to me. I’m embarrassed that I said it but also crushed by the hurt on Rhys’s face.
“Rhys, I’m so sorry. I?—”
“And grumpy,” he adds with a teasing grin, but there’s still hurt in his eyes. “It’s the boring part that made me realize I should stick with the formula that works. I have to be myself off stage, though, so if you’re not as keen on him as you are on my onstage self, then we oughta reconsider Italy.”
“We’re not going to Italy.” I pull my hand away and swing a leg over both his to kneel across his lap before cupping his face in my hands. His eyes snap as I gaze into them, a smile playing on his lips. “And I’m very keen on this Rhys right here.” I brush his lips with mine. “I was an idiot for ever thinking he was boring.” I let my mouth linger on his a little longer. “And I would love to hear his music.”
I circle my arms around Rhys’s neck and trail kisses along his jawline. His fingers curl around my waist, and a sigh scrapes across his throat as he pulls me closer. He finds my mouth, our kisses deepen, and the world slows.
But I don’t let it stop this time. Not when what I’m feeling for Rhys has more to do with who I’m discovering he is than wanting to check things off a list. I want to get to know the real Rhys, and that means slowing down to give us both time to do that.
“Can I hear what you have?” I ask as we break apart, and I move from his lap to the space right next to him.
Rhys shakes his head a little too emphatically. “It’s not good.”
I don’t push, even though I suspect he’s wrong.
“What about the original ‘Fa-La La-La Land?’ Can I hear that?” I lean my head on his shoulder and lace my fingers through his.
“You’ve heard it.” With his opposite hand, he traces his finger around each of my knuckles, sending shockwaves up my arm.
“You mean when you’ve hummed it? That didn’t really give me a sense of what it’s about.” I try to focus on what we’re talking about instead of the desire threatening to take over. The problem is, thinking about Rhys singing is like handing a prisoner the key to his cell.
“How about I sing the one everyone knows? You like that one.”
“You hate it.”
“Not the point. You and everyone else love it.” The forced lightness in his voice brings everything else I’m feeling to a sudden stop.
I sit up to look him straight in the eye. “It is the point, Rhys. You don’t have to be a different person on stage than youare off. People will love you for who you are and what’s in your heart. And if they don’t, that’s on them, not you.”
Rhys stares back at me, angry clouds forming in his eyes. “And you don’t always have to be an optimist, Stella. I’ve been in this business a long time. I have to be realistic about my career. You can call that being grumpy or boring, but I call it being practical.”
I’m tempted to argue with him, but I know when a storm is coming, and there’s one brewing on Rhys’s face. So, I decide to take cover until it passes.
